


i'd shoot the sunshine into my veins

by kissteethstainred



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, I Tried, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian was the god of sunlight, so he'd always known warmth. </p><p>And yet he had never felt a heat as blazing as the one in Mickey’s eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd shoot the sunshine into my veins

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the possible-maybe complete disregard of actual mythology. Mickey and Ian are not my characters and are simply enjoying being in this setting.
> 
> It's almost 1 in the morning but fuck it, this fic was worth it. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own.

Every god and goddess knew to stay away from the Milkoviches.

They created craters with the pounding of their fists, flattened mountains with the stomping of their feet. They formed lakes from the roars they released, snuffed out a life as easily as picking grapes from a vine. The Milkoviches tallied up the numbers of the dead as if counting their chips for playing poker. War and death were just games to them, and they could tip the balance of winning and losing with just the exhale of cigarette smoke from their bleeding mouths. The father, the patriarch, almost like a titan himself, was the god of horror and destruction. His children could only be just as bad, if not worse.

 _Stay away_ , they said. _Stay away from the gods and goddesses of death, of war, of hurt and pain. And keep away._

Ian was the god of sunlight: equal parts determination and optimism.

Their warnings could never have stopped him.

\--

Mickey had watched him warily at first, his head tilted slightly to the side. When he snapped his fingers, a cigarette appeared between them. Unlit.

“Let me help you,” Ian said. Mickey twitched his fingers, his hand clenching reflexively, and Ian knew that he was trying not to reach for a weapon. It made Ian curious. Here was Ian, a god of sunshine, stepping into the god of battlefields and injuries’ domain, his homeworld. And yet Mickey did nothing. This was unheard of, especially when dealing with a Milkovich. Alarms should be sounded, hellhounds should come streaking from the shadows that were fighting against Ian’s sunlight.

Mickey watched as Ian took Mickey’s cigarette and lit the end with the tips of his fingers.

Ian was the god of sunlight, so he’d always known warmth.

And yet he had never felt a heat as blazing as the one in Mickey’s eyes.

\--

They could not be found out. It must be secret.

They had to meet in Ian’s domain. The shadows had noticed when Ian had come to Mickey’s domain the first time, had passed on the secret they’d seen in hushed tones as they’d ghosted over the Milkovich lands. It was too risky, Mickey had said the next time they’d met. Too dangerous.

Mickey’s father was the god of horror and destruction. If he found out, well. Hellhounds, monsters of unknown danger, armies of unknown number--they would all be released. 

There was a space in the Underworld for gods, and Ian would surely find himself in there.

So they met in Ian’s domain. Whenever Mickey was there, his eyes matched the color of the spring sky. Mickey scoffed at the aromatic flowers, shielded and narrowed his eyes at the bright light and even brighter colors, joked about the animals that stopped by to see Ian, but Ian saw more, saw the burning warmth in Mickey’s heart.

When their mouths met, the world itself turned hotter. The light became so bright, so white-hot, that no sunglasses the humans wore could protect them. When Mickey’s teeth grazed Ian’s jaw, wavelengths in the light shortened. They fell into the grass, which was softer, had grown _faster_ , because Ian’s sunlight was stronger. Because of Mickey.

Sunshine glowed between Ian’s fingers, illuminating the different colors of black and brown in Mickey’s hair, touching upon Mickey’s freckles, making _more_. Everywhere Ian touched, his sunlight followed, caressing Mickey as softly as warm spring day, loving him like the sun loved its planets, pulling Mickey into his orbit. “You’re glowing,” Mickey whispered along Ian’s neck.

“It’s you,” Ian murmured, into Mickey’s mouth, his hair, his jaw, his skin. Everywhere. “It’s you.”

\--

Lip was the god of intelligence and mischief. Put together, he could come up with completely stunning plans of pranks and tricks and all-out naughtiness. Alone, his intelligence lended to his arrogance. But being the god of intellect and misconduct, he knew how to respond the best to unplanned situations.

When he found out about Mickey and Ian, he lost this title of genius, because he was simply dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it. There was simply no logic to their relationship.

And when there wasn’t any logic, Lip was no longer the god of intelligence.

\--

Mickey was the god of battlefields and injuries. A protector, in a way. A soldier.

He hadn’t always looked like this, with the split lip and the wary expression and the _fuck u-up_ tattoos. He used to have tribal tattoos, for whichever tribe was the fiercest and the most feared in the early human years. He used to have longer, deeper scars then, too.

His look changed with whoever was winning or losing a battle. Whomever’s army was the most abundant. And with the matching injuries just for show.

Mickey dressed like the humans did, like all the gods did nowadays, but he was still different. Shabbier clothes, rougher speech, more tattoos. He had dog tags around his neck, the names engraved into the metal constantly changing. He had bullet wounds that were almost as frequent as freckles.

Ian asked about the tattoos Mickey had now, the black _fuck u-up_.

Mickey told him in a somber voice that not every battlefield happened in a war. They happened on the street, at a school, in a home.

Mickey told him how exhausting it was.

\--

There would never be stories written about them.

There would never be epics written about their journey, not like there was about Monica and Frank. There would never be tragedies told of their obstacles like there was with Fiona and Jimmy. There would never be love poems written about them like there had been about the love triangle between Lip, Karen, and Mandy (a triangle that would cause a war on human ground and many, many deaths).

There would never be sonnets on the way Mickey reverently touched Ian’s skin, forehead to forehead, fingertips to lips, mouth to jawline, tongue to skin. They would be absent of haikus on the change in Ian’s voice, moaning Mickey’s name, whispering words because they had to be quiet, groaning in exasperation, excited because they hadn’t seen each other in a while, speechless at the mere _sight_ of Mickey.

They would never be remembered by human minds. Only by themselves.  

\--

Ian was awed, stunned into speechlessness, when he walked into Mickey’s temple. There was a certain solemnity as they walked up the steps. Ian touched the walls reverently, as softly as he had Mickey’s skin. Sunlight reached from the shadowy depths to where Ian’s fingertips touched the cold obsidian.

Mickey’s temple wasn’t completely dark, like Ian had expected. Instead, it was filled with candles, lit in prayer and even remembrance, for soldiers everywhere. There were some crosses wrapped around the candles, flowers that were wilting. When Ian stepped into the room, the light seemed a little bit brighter, and it seemed to lean towards Ian. The flames flickered against the black obsidian, making the glossy stone shine and ripple. It was beautiful.

It was also a bit battered. There were chunks of rocks taken out, long scratches in the obsidian, scorch marks along the steps.

“Why?” Ian asked, tracing a long scratch and wondering what kind of weapon made the mark. When he turned to Mickey, Mickey shrugged, a sad smile on his lips.

“There are a lot of people in here,” Mickey said.

“A lot of people come to my temple,” Ian said, touching one of the wilting flowers and watching it perk up. Its stem straightened and the purple color came back, just a little bit. “But mine is still not as damaged as yours.”

Mickey’s eyes roamed the candles, the obsidian pillars at the entrance, the flowers in the windows and on the floor, the streaming sunlight in the window closest to Ian, the dog tags and the pictures strewn on the floor like flower petals. “Sometimes people are angry with me,” he said finally. “They lose a battle. They watch a friend die right in front of them. A husband or wife loses their spouse in a war. These people are angry, because they believe they prayed to me for nothing. So they come to my temple and try to destroy it.” Mickey traced a knuckle over where the words _FUCK WAR_ were etched into the dark stone.

“It’s horrible,” Ian muttered, kneeling down to make a few more flowers perk up.

Mickey laughed. “Not everyone loves me as much as they love you, _sunshine_.”

Ian hummed in agreement, but replied steadily, “I love you.”

Mickey glanced up at him from where he was fingering a chain around his neck. The low light and the way the candlelight lingered upon Mickey made his eyes as dark as the obsidian behind him. Slowly, his face relaxed into a smile. He held out his hand.

Ian reached for him, let Mickey guide Ian into Mickey’s arms. Mickey’s arms were strong and firm where he held Ian, his body heat seeping into Ian slowly, almost languid like a lazy summer day. When he whispered in Ian’s ear, “I love you too,” a liquid warmth raced through Ian’s veins like Ian had never felt before. Ian could feel flowers burst into bloom in his own domain.

They stayed like that, holding each other in Mickey’s temple for a while, until the shadows came to warn them that they had stayed too long. Mickey kissed Ian goodbye, mouth lingering on Ian’s lips and hands never quite leaving Ian’s hips. It didn’t matter, because Ian managed to convince Mickey to stay in Ian’s domain for the rest of the night, and so the languid kisses continued, where the shadows couldn’t threaten them.

(The humans would comment on hot, sunny days lasting for weeks on end like they’d never seen, but Ian didn’t care).

\--

Ian’s sunlight was not happy all the time.

Sometimes Ian withheld it. When he was angry at the humans, at his followers, at other gods, he punished them by shining his light upon other places. He placed warmer, healthier light upon the lands that his enemies wanted to decline, shielding light so that in actuality his enemies lands would wither. He let the goddesses and gods of rain and snow take over when he drew away.

Sometimes Ian overused it. He let lands and people feel his heat, feel the anger that boiled beneath his skin. He burned everything his sunlight could burn: he let the heat beat down on the humans’ backs, turning their skin red; he let the fields ignite, turning the food to ash; he let the waters heat so that no one could be cool; he set everything flammable on fire: their houses, carts, farmlands, _anything_. Let them learn their lesson. The sun would not always be their friend.

Mickey was not the only destructive one between them, but when Ian was angry like this, it was only him that could calm Ian down. There was an understanding in Mickey’s eyes, a knowledge he held from letting his revenge bleed on the battlefields. Mickey would guide Ian to the cooler shadows of his domain, allow Ian to drink from waters that were colder and darker. And Ian followed, allowed Mickey to lead.

Ian followed, because while Ian may be the sunlight, he gravitated around Mickey as though Mickey was the sun.

\--

Ian woke from a bright light across his eyelids. He raised an arm to shield his eyes, blinking into sunshine. Ian tried to move, but Mickey was wrapped tightly around him, naked, an arm around Ian’s waist and their legs tangled together. Ian looked up at the tree they fell asleep under and asked if it could _please_ move more into the sunlight to give them shade. The tree obliged, shifting its branches until there was enough shade under its leaves to cover them.

Mickey stirred next to him when Ian laced their fingers together. He blinked blearily at the sky before groaning and pressing his forehead to Ian’s shoulder. “It’s always so goddamn bright in your homeworld,” Mickey grumbled. His forehead on Ian’s shoulder was followed by his lips.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ian said, rolling over in Mickey’s arms until they faced each other.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. His smile was almost as blinding as the sun.

“I distinctly remember promising you last night that I would kiss every inch of your body,” Ian said, moving to straddle Mickey’s hips.

Mickey traced his fingers up Ian’s thighs until the palms of his hands fit against Ian’s hips. “That would take a very long time.”

Ian laughed and began his promise by kissing Mickey on the mouth, feeling the light shifting between the leaves envelope them in warmth. “We have an eternity,” he murmured, sighing into Mickey’s mouth.

Mickey’s fingers made their way up Ian’s spine, and Ian felt himself ignite.

“Eternity,” Mickey whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> title from 27 by Fall Out Boy


End file.
